with bones or without?

I imagine the little fish in my soup squirming in my mouth, the crunch of their bones. I run back to the house. I look in my soup. One of the fish is gone. I fish the remaining one out – and drop it in a bowl of water. It’s little mouth is gasping. I saved it! – I think. No, I killed it – I think – it is alive but now partially cooked.

This morning I awoke from a dream in which I was making a soup.

The soup is a yellow broth, like Matzo ball soup, with carrots and noodles. I am in my grandmother’s kitchen, the sunlight coming through the window passes through the broth in the clear bowl. I have a bag of silver minnows. I take two live fish and place them in the soup. They are darting about in my soup, their eyes watching me.

I leave them to cool and go for a walk. It’s not autumn yet, but I can smell cold in the air. Last year’s leaves crunch beneath my feet. I want apples. I imagine apples straight off the tree, the crunch of their crisp sweetness, their juice, some of it dripping down my chin.

I imagine the little fish in my soup squirming in my mouth, the crunch of their bones, their bodies sliding down my throat. I run back to the house. I look in my soup. One of the fish is gone. I fish the remaining one out – and drop it in a bowl of water. It’s little mouth is gasping. I saved it! – I think. No, I killed it – I think – it is alive but now partially cooked.

I wake up. I think about sushi. I think of a post from a couple of weeks ago by Amanda Palmer in which she writes about a time she stepped on a dying bird to put it out of its misery. It is the back story of her song The Killing Type. I guess that post haunted me. You can check her post here.

I’ve been going about my day: unpacking, photographing new jewelry by Matagi, saying good-bye to Matagi as he goes to visit clients in Flagstaff (just as I’ve arrived from Flagstaff – I miss my man!!), and simultaneously snuggling and fending off my cat (he misses me and gets to be quiet a molester if I don’t watch it) while I work. When I open my computer (which is now overheating – I must take it to be fixed or replaced before it actually burns out) – and there is another post from Amanda Palmer which includes the video of the song behind the story I was thinking about when I woke up.

Here’s the video – there is a viewer discretion:

Something reminds me of Amanda Palmer and then, I get a video by Amanda Palmer. I like when these things happen.

Image of Amanda Palmer from Buzzine.

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